Realtà Agrodolci
by Bobolac
Summary: Chapter 5: Lonely Strangers
1. As We Begin, We Break

He didn't have to know that the whole time he pretended her lips were his.

But then again, he'll never know that it had happened.

He would never have to know that her wanton moans and cries did nothing for him. The half-false noises only made him wish for the growled admissions and hissed moans he loved so much.

He would never have to know that her skin wasn't pale enough, her eyes not dark enough—it wasn't right—but at the time it didn't feel so wrong. Her body fit against his the soft way only a woman's could. But it was all like that, something he remembered so clearly in the back of his mind, but was still so foreign. Soft but quick, complete but…missing something. He could only think of her as a porcelain doll, like he had all the other women he had had before…before him. None of the rough, or the fight, or the push and pull of desire that he had grown used to.

He left after with no marks, just as he had when he arrived.

He'd never let him know that he was driven to the outskirts of madness by the insanity of this…their…relationship? Their involvement? What's the right term for something in which his little concessions could complete you one moment, but a few cold words could shatter you into pieces the next?

His body all but screamed for her at the restaurant. She was a friend, an old acquaintance. Someone he hadn't seen for years but indulged in her request for a meeting. They had been something more for a brief moment, in a past he struggles to truly remember.

Her light smile reminded him of something he wished he had. The soft laughter from pink lips captivated him, if only because he couldn't imagine his own lover's lips curled into such a show of active affection. She weaved her words so perfectly, her intentions clear enough to be seen, but not overt enough to be blatant. She was chasing him. How long had it been since he'd been chased?

The invitation for a coffee after dinner would have seemed innocent enough, if the twinkle in her eyes had been better hidden. Moments after entering the apartment she had kissed him, all soft lips and gentle curves of skin. His body reacted—mind filled with an ounce of her and the rest of a man he hadn't touched in weeks. Dark eyes were replaced with light, hard angles with soft, feminine curves—but at the moment, a warm body was what he needed, someone who would give and from whom he could easily take. His body had wanted it. Had craved it.

Now…he couldn't be so sure.

His thoughts hadn't strayed to the guilt of betrayal yet. Oddly enough, all he could think of was a twisted form of damage control, walking the cold streets as the sun broke over the horizon. As the wind picked up, displacing golden locks, his mind flitted over everything, a near frantic search for some _reason_, some answer. Only then did a nagging voice flow through his thoughts.

_Would he even care_?

His thoughts ground to a halt. What if…

What if he really didn't? He could walk home, go to sleep, and this could all be over. Was that what he had become, after doing something like this? Like a man he once despised, shielding his love's eyes to the betrayal unfolding behind her back?

If his luck were with him, Kyouya would still be gone, off on another excursion to the corners of the earth, sharp eyes ever focused on the answers he searched for. The thought of coming home to the man frightened him in a way that was more powerful than a knife to his throat. For the first time in years, Dino Cavallone felt like running away. But he was grown now, albeit with the face of a man five years his junior, and he knew it wasn't an answer. Isn't that what he'd always told Tsuna? _Don't run from your battles. Face your fear—and your opponent—head on._

The walk home was far too quick for his liking, the click of the lock sounding hollow and dark as he turned the key. He pushed the door open slowly, cautiously. As he looked down, his first fear had come true. Sitting by the door was a pair of black dress shoes, impeccably polished. Dino half froze, swallowing. Taking a slow breath, he closed the door gently behind him, toeing off his shoes next to the smaller pair, hand resting heavily on the wall to keep him from tripping. His coordination had improved exponentially in the past few years, but smoothly taking off clothes had always been the bane of his existence.

He kept his footsteps quiet, mere padding on the floorboards, as he inched his way into the front room. A pair of feet could be seen at the edge of the sofa, a soft half-snore echoing into the room. Dino almost smiled—Kyouya never slept on the bed, only venturing near the bedroom when Dino was home. And those trips were usually taken when their lips were caught together, tongues tangling, bodies hot and begging for each other.

His feet moved before his mind could stop them, stopping as he stood next to the young man. He watched his chest rise and fall for a moment, head tilted lightly. Kyouya's face then contorted painfully, a sharp intake of breath interrupting the soothing pattern. Dino nearly jumped out of his skin. Reaching forward, he barely touched a strand of raven hair, and the expression slowly softened, breathing going back to normal. Affection swelled in his heart for this beautiful lover of his. But the bottom dropped out.

The guilt hit him like a brick wall. Memories flooded back to him, the sound of her moaning his name into his ear. Dino took a startled step backwards, outstretched hand frozen in the air. His calf hit the coffee table behind him, rattling a stack of neatly placed used silverware, sloshing a bit of water from a half finished glass. His body stopped, holding the position with a startled expression, his actions truly catching up with him. He'd betrayed him. Six years had passed since he first kissed him, four since he'd last even touched anyone else, three since he finally allowed himself to take the boy on his first night of legality. He'd ruined everything, hadn't he?

"Noisy." A dark, sleep heavy voice interrupted his troubled thoughts, rattling him into awareness. Dino attempted a chuckle, but the sound got caught in his throat. Kyouya sat up on the couch; dark eyes half lidded, suit still impeccable. The only time he it was ever out of place was in the heat of battle or at Dino's hands. He looked up at the blonde with a half annoyed expression, swinging his legs carefully over the side of the couch.

"Aah…sorry. Didn't mean to…wake you." Dino's voice sounded foreign to him, accent standing out as his nerves built up, voice catching slightly. Kyouya stood warily, brow slightly arched. He made a quiet noise of dismissal, raising his hand to cover a light yawn.

"You were supposed to be away." The tone was uninterested, but it held only a sliver of surprise, and a dash of embarassment. After this many years, Dino had begun to pick up the nuances of Hibari Kyouya's speech. He didn't have to stop in Italy on his way home—Tsuna was in Japan, and Italy was a bit out of his way for a return home. A stab of guilt pierced Dino—he'd indulged himself, coming to stay here when he was sure the owner wouldn't be home. In any other situation, Dino would have smiled knowingly, pulling Kyouya deftly into his arms, happy to have caught him. Now he could only feel shame and remorse.

"Mn." Dino paused, lifting a hand to scratch at his neck. "I'm not. Just…late home…?" He hated his sudden inability to think. He had always been so good with words, but now they all failed him. Kyouya's brow quirked slightly higher. Suddenly, the expression dropped, head tilted a fraction of an inch to the left, nose wrinkled slightly. He had picked up on something. Dino's hand dropped, attempting a normal façade, while inside he was screaming, pleading, crying out for this to not happen, to never have to happen. The next words would tear his world apart.

"Her perfume…it's strong." Kyouya's eyes were like those of a hawk, deftly flicking over his neck for marks. Dino froze, trapped between a lie and the truth, amber eyes caught between looking at his lover and the floor. He knew he couldn't lie, not to Kyouya, someone so quick. The pieces had already fallen together in his mind. Nothing could ever be kept hidden from Kyouya. He was a fool to even fathom otherwise.

"Kyouya…" He began, voice barely a whisper, "I…" Dark eyes flicked up to his, hard and cold—suddenly he was looking into the eyes of a young boy who utterly despised him, a boy who's shell he'd taken years to chip away at, and still had layers and layers left to go. He nearly shivered from the chilled glance, stopped mid sentence. Kyouya shook his head slightly, a light glint of disappointed, bitter amusement in his eyes. Even he didn't expect it.

Dino reached up a hand, touching his suit-clad shoulder with a tenderness that could not be forged. Kyouya's eyes flicked down to the offending appendage—the look itself felt like it burned Dino's skin. He removed the hand quickly, eyes swiftly averting to the floor. He felt like a child again, being scolded by his mother, but this time it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest.

Suddenly a hand was at his throat, thumb pressed firmly to his windpipe. A garbled noise escaped his lips, a feeble attempt for air. He looked down his nose, an odd angle, only to find Kyouya's eyes hidden behind his hair. The hand tightened. His head began to feel light, his hands half raising. He didn't try to pull him off—Kyouya had every right. Every right. He could feel his lips getting cold, the corners of his vision blurring. He very well might die tonight—die for his sin against this vengeful man. Soft prayers filled into his head, old words from mass with his mother—though he couldn't keep his eyes off his attacker. He couldn't keep the guilt from his eyes, the acceptance of whatever punishment the smaller man saw fit.

Just when he was sure he was going to pass out, he was unceremoniously let go, crumpling to the floor in a heap. Gasping for breath, he watched Kyouya's feet move in firm, deliberate steps toward the door. He weakly attempted to reach up a hand, a rasped noise caught in his throat. Feet slipped into shiny black shoes, coat pulled from a hook slipped over shoulders. The door clicked open, and he could hear the fabric of his coat brush against the doorframe.

The slam of a door had never sounded so final.

They had fought before, so many times before. But this wasn't the same. This couldn't be compared. This wasn't one of their common 'I'm sorry for kissing you in public' fight, or their 'I didn't mean to say "I love you", and no, I didn't mean to say it in front of the other Vongola, I was only trying to say goodnight' fight. This fight was irreversible. He had _felt_ the murderous rage through Kyouya's fingers. A minute later, and the life would have been smothered from him.

Their tie had started in an uncouth way. His lust for him had started with a hint of shame and guilt, feeling such a desire for a boy so much his junior. Their physical relationship had no clear beginning. It had no clear boundaries, only the lines that Dino clumsily danced around, even after all of these years.

His heart fell in his chest, eyes dropping closed. It had no clear beginning, but this was clearly their end.

And as he slept, body pained by the cold floor, throat bruising, he was tortured by dreams of a raven haired man he would never be able to escape, even if he wanted to.

And so began his life haunted by the skylark of Namimori, the Vongola Cloud guardian—his former lover.


	2. Brothers in Arms, Lovers at Heart

AN: God, it's been a while, eh? This is probably the longest single chapter I've ever done (yeah, it's not THAT long, but still. I'll do a little dance, thank you.) This story has become a merge of my two ideas for a D18 epic and a 8059 epic. Only things to note--yes, there are a lot of tense switches. This is meant to differentiate between memories and current thoughts, though flashbacks are in italics. Hope it isn't too confusing! And excuse my terrible attempt at Italian, Italian speakers. looks at titleflails  
Please review with any comments--I hope you enjoy!

He could have had a nice girl, a nice home, maybe even a shot at baseball for a living. There were so many things that could have gone differently. Thinking back on it now, traces of nostalgia lingering, he could have had the 'perfect' life.

Now Yamamoto lives in the world of blood and death, of Mafioso and Guardians. No more dreams of homeruns and sports glory—he's traded in his bat for a katana, and his innocence for a melancholy reality dashed with a hint of cynicism, a bitter tasting pill. He's scarred now, and not just knitted skin and bones—but somehow he wouldn't take it back for the world. He knows that despite the hard, callused layers that have grown, part of him is still that Namimori boy playing mafia games.

A pretty young waitress brings him his espresso and biscotti, unabashedly flirting with her handsome foreign customer. Yamamoto smiles that winning grin at her, the one that's always gotten him out of trouble before, the one that always convinces Tsuna that everything's okay. She retreats, a blush sweeping across her cheekbones, sure to be in a good mood for the rest of the day, so affected by his infectious grin. He smiles faintly to himself, thinking 'Yup…still got it.'

Italy has, in some strange twist of fate, become his second home. He remembers the first time he came here, to this faraway land that he'd only heard about. Dino was happy to oblige him, show him to all the tourist traps and even to a few hole-in-the-wall places the blonde liked to frequent. Dino even tried to teach him little clips of Italian, smiling warmly, helping Yamamoto feel his way through foreign vowels.

He smiles softly at the memory, taking a sip of his drink. He's much more reliable now—one of the few who is allowed to sit in for Tsuna at overseas meetings, like the one today. His Italian is nowhere near perfect—Gokudera still chastises him for the odd tone of his accent—but the language is becoming second nature.

Gokudera.

He's almost gone all day without thinking about him. A wan smile passes over his features, fingers curling around the small, pristinely white cup before him. He remembers the days when things were simple between them. Well, as simple as anything involving Gokudera can be. Once upon a time, there was a 'something' with them: lusty, bruising kisses, inexperienced hands digging into heated skin, the taste of cigarettes invading his mouth, Gokudera's hips pressing hard against his own. A release. Or at least that's what Gokudera called it.

"_You want it, I want it, and that's all it is. Don't try and over think it, baseball idiot. You'll break your brain. Just a release."_

So Yamamoto had tried to keep it simple. He'd tried to follow Gokudera's rules—no touchy feely, no cuddling, no post-coital kissing, no pillow talk. It was nothing serious, but at the same time, he knew he wasn't really satisfied with whatever it _was_, with this shadow of a relationship, whatever this non-committal fling they had could be described as. Gokudera never gave him any indication he was unsatisfied—and even if Yamamoto had said anything, he was sure to just get an earful of disparaging comments and mocking.

He never expected Gokudera to get so angry with him when he accepted a date with a cute girl from their class. Though it being Gokudera, he didn't scream at him for dating her. He yelled and fought him for every mundane thing he could think of, but never told Yamamoto why he was really angry. It had taken him so long to realize it as a shadow of jealousy…that one of the few things Gokudera had ever, in some disparaging way, call his, had been taken—it was too late by the time he'd figured it out. By then he had been dating another girl for a while, and his heart was beginning to be hers instead. Ayako had begun hinting about how much she wanted to spend her life with him, making veiled mentions about being a June bride when Yamamoto took her to the occasional Vongola celebration, looking wistfully at married women's fingers. He was pulled along in her strong tide, swept away by her soft laughter, her infectious enthusiasm.

She was something to protect. It wasn't like being a Guardian, like his desire to protect Tsuna and his pledge to the Vongola. He felt the soft stirrings of love, of always wanting her around, wanting to hold her in his arms and keep her safe from the dangers of the world. There was something about a woman's love that he couldn't put his finger on. It had been so different than what he had felt for Gokudera only a few years before. Then again, everything involving Gokudera Hayato was different than what he's ever known before. Gokudera was like gravity, pulling him in, even when unwarranted. The pull had lessened while he was with Ayako, and a piece of him felt filled by her love. At the same time, something was different, still missing.

The pretty waitress has brought him another espresso, and a part of Yamamoto feels guilty for not being aware enough to say thank you. Dredging up memories tends to take so much of his brain—he probably wouldn't even notice an assassin coming right at him. His fingers move for his suit pocket, pulling out a small pack of cigarettes, heralded by Gokudera as the greatest in the world. Yamamoto doesn't call himself a smoker, but something about him is comforted by the curl of smoke rising from the burning paper and tobacco, by the heavy scent in the air and the feeling of the filter between long fingers. It settles a part of him, a part that longs for something he can't quite put his finger on.

It's funny, how time has changed his world. He still laughs like used to, but so often the sound seems weighted. He's seen death now, malleable and real, the bitter tang of freshly spent blood forced to become palatable, the sign of a job completed. His own hands have brought the end for more than he'd like to account to. But in the end, everything is for Tsuna, for the Vongola.

His devotion to the 10th Vongola Don is full, complete, but in some way, it has never compared to that of Gokudera. As a part of him drifted toward Ayako, he had a glimpse of their world from the outside. She always commented on how nice it was, the way Gokudera seemed to live for the good of Tsuna—not that she would ever know the violence such a devotion entails. Yamamoto remembers when he and Ayako first got serious, when he first had to explain what he did for a living—or at least a plausible stretch of the truth. He never wanted to tell her that he killed, that his hands carried such sin. As Yamamoto began to devote his heart to Ayako, Gokudera threw himself entirely into Tsuna. It was clear to everyone, from the lowest subordinate to the Guardians, that Gokudera was more than just enamored with Tsuna. He seemed almost to throw himself into his position, as if he was suddenly running from some unseen demons—as if only Tsuna could save him, make everything right again. The only one who couldn't see it for what it was, ironically, was Tsuna himself.

For a moment, he had felt a spark of jealousy, remembering when those green eyes had been fixed on his, when they had once followed _him_ across a room. But then he remembered Ayako, _his_ Ayako, and the worth of their relationship, her undying love for him. And somehow, that placated things. It kept away the bittersweet memories, pushed back the past with her sweet smiles and soft mouth.

After two years, Ayako's veiled mentions were clear enough for even _him_ to recognize, and even his father was asking when Yamamoto was going to gather up the gusto to ask her to marry him. He wasn't sure if it was the pressure or his true desire that lead him to a little jeweler, searching amongst rows of sparkling gems, but he left the shop with at least his month's salary spent and a soft velvet box in his pocket. It took him days to even figure out a place and time that was appropriate for such a monumental moment. He'd bothered Tsuna more than once for advice for when to pop the question, trusting his close friend to think of something he hadn't already. Even when his setting was decided, it seemed as if he was holding his breath every time they were together, anticipation heavy in his chest. It was as if he needed permission to go through with the act. Yamamoto smiles bitterly as he remembers the conversation the afternoon before he proposed to Ayako.

"_Gokudera…" He speaks to the silence, leaning back onto a couch in the Vongola headquarters. Gokudera spares a brief glance and a cocked eyebrow before going back to the mundane task of dynamite inventory. Yamamoto takes this as a point to continue, fingers fishing around in his pocket. "I'm…" He pauses, pulling out the small box, letting it play between his fingers._

"_Spit it out, Yamamoto, or go back to work or something. I don't really want to hear you ramble today." Gokudera's subordinates have been especially clingy lately, as he has lost one of his most loyal members in a mission only days before. The stress of dancing around them is beginning to show. Yamamoto flips open the box, diamond catching the light and Gokudera's eye._

"_M'gonna ask her to marry me." Yamamoto cracks a slight smile, hesitant. Gokudera seems to stare at the ring for an eternity, before his eyes flick back to his task. He makes a slight noise in his throat, seemingly clearing it. Green eyes meet brown, and Yamamoto watches a slight smile cross over Gokudera's face._

"_Nn…congratulations then. Maybe she'll be silly enough to say yes." Yamamoto blinks slightly, hearing the hint of forced happiness in Gokudera's tone, the faint strain of his smile. He lets out a soft chuckle, looking down at the dainty ring, but the it fades as he meets Gokudera's eyes—an expression there he wasn't supposed to see, that was supposed to merely last an instant. Gokudera's eyes are firm, a hint of betrayal in their depths. _

_The look passes as quickly as it was discovered, but the air is heavy with silence, and even as Gokudera looks back down, Yamamoto can see the hard-set line of his shoulders, the quick, twitch of his hands before he moves back to work. _

_They sit in awkward silence for minutes that seem like hours, Gokudera quickly separating himself from the past few minutes, and Yamamoto trying to decipher Gokudera's expression. Perhaps he's afraid Yamamoto will be distracted? That he'll be a hindrance to Tsuna in happy matrimony? That once and for all, Ayako will learn the truth about them—the Vongola and its Guardians? Gokudera is the one to break the tension._

"_Go ask her, baseball idiot." His eyes don't leave the table, mouth resorting to old nicknames that have long since lost much of their venom. "Wait much longer and she'll find another guy who'll get the job done."_

And of course, Ayako had accepted in a picturesque way, tears streaming down her joy filled face, followed quickly by a jump into Yamamoto's arms. For a short time, they were the golden couple. Ayako spent her days blissfully planning the happiest day of her life, and Yamamoto continued his guardianship, an easy smile never far from his face. Their moment of peace was shattered in one instant, in one phone call from Tsuna.

Gokudera had been hurt.

His heart had stopped at least once on the way to the hospital, and though he was somewhat stable, the doctors couldn't promise that he'd recover. Yamamoto rushed from a homemade dinner without a word, brows creased in fear, anger, in ceaseless worry, not hearing Ayako's cries for explanation. He all but flew to the hospital, following the trail of men in dark suits to Gokudera's room.

The sound of monitors beeping, the tubes leading into a frighteningly frail looking body had stopped him in his tracks, leaning against the doorframe. Something inside him snapped, broke like a dry branch, fell like a dead weight. Yamamoto's eyes met Tsuna's, both holding a silent apology for letting this happen, regardless of the fact that neither was to blame. He walked towards the hospital bed like a ghost, coming to stand at Tsuna's left side. Despite the fear in his heart, he had to stand strong next to Tsuna. Anything less, and Gokudera would find a way to haunt him forever. They watched him, day in and day out, stuck in the depths of his mind, left in the limbo of a coma. The gashes on his chest healed, punctures were closed, bones knitted—yet he still didn't wake. He had, at some point in that first never-ending day, managed to answer Ayako's frantic message, explaining in short phrases that Gokudera had been hurt, and that he was at the hospital.

Yamamoto came home only occasionally in those grueling months, giving short embraces and soft kisses to his fiancé, trying to find the words to calm her anxiety. He couldn't comfort her like he used to. In the beginning, she seemed to accept his absence, resigned to stand by him, even in their distance. Only a few months before their nuptials, Yamamoto hadn't seen her in three weeks, and their last meeting had only been a night to sleep in a real bed. Ayako wasn't stupid—she saw the bandages wrapping Yamamoto's body, the skin healing only to be broken again.

When Yamamoto wasn't taking his shifts at the hospital, he was personally finding every person involved in the attack. When his skill wasn't sufficient, he recruited Hibari to help, knowing that no one could stand in the presence of the Cloud Guardian's skill combined with Yamamoto's search for revenge. They only ceased their searching when they were sure the job was done, the body of a misguided Don at their feet, blood creeping towards polished black shoes, hands stained red, faces solemnly set. It didn't make Gokudera wake up, but it was the least he could do. The only thing he knew how to do.

Leaving Hibari, Yamamoto's mind was left in disarray. He was absent, so much so that he went home without changing, walking in covered in the blood of dead men. Ayako had waited up for him, as she did most recent nights in vain, her tired eyes meeting his tattered form. She had bolted upright, coming to his side with wild eyes, frantically searching him for the gaping wound she was sure she would find. He brushed off the search, murmuring reassurances as he shuffled to the shower. She only left him alone as the bathroom door locked, and the moment he returned to the sitting room she was ready and questioning.

"_Takeshi…__**Takeshi**__, please tell me what happened? Tell me what's wrong?" Ayako's voice wavers, her strength gone after months of distant moments and weeks without her fiancé. Yamamoto's tired eyes turn to her, trying to be gentle, trying oh so hard to be patient, but the adrenaline is still faint in his veins, the sight of blood still present when he closes his eyes._

"_A job." It's all he can manage to tell her, all he can say without tainting her, staining such an innocent girl with such carnage. "For Gokudera." He adds, voice clearly showing his intent to share no further details, the severity of his silence._

"_Gokudera…" she murmurs, eyes meeting the floor, face setting. "Hn. Of course." The bitter tone does not fit her. _

By then she must have known what he did for a living, or at least have an idea, because she never questioned the blood itself, only questioned the presence of wounds on his own body. Before she was full of concern, but in the days that passed, she was distant, cold—but somehow, he hardly noticed. He came home more often, trying to appease her. It seemed to only antagonize the brewing storm cloud over a once happy home, over a engagement that was oh so very close to its nuptials.

It all fell apart the day Gokudera woke.

Tsuna called him, sounding happier than he had in months that felt like years. Gokudera had awoken and, true to form, had immediately apologized for being careless, failing Tsuna, and causing him to worry, voice slurred from the pain meds. Yamamoto's laugh seemed to echo through the room at this, a sound that he himself hadn't heard in days, maybe even weeks. Ayako appeared as he hung up, standing to find his jacket.

"_What was that?" She has the faintest hint of a smile, their strain momentarily halted by the sound of his laughter. Yamamoto's smile is relieved, coat slipping onto his shoulders._

"_Gokudera. He's awake." His mind isn't really processing more than that—his eyes don't see her expression falter, her pretty mouth turn into a faint frown._

"_Oh. That's good." She sounds as if she's trying to be happy for him, but such a thing is too much to ask for. Yamamoto falters, turning towards her._

"_Good? It's incredible, Ayako. Months now, and they were starting to ask if we wanted to take him off __**life support**__. They wanted us to let him go, and he kept fighting." A wistful smile appears on his face. "Just like him." He chuckles softly, fingers fastening buttons._

"_Would you do the same for me, Takeshi?" Her voice is soft, so very soft, but there is a warning of venom behind the words. His eyes meet hers, widened, questioning. "Would you wait by my bedside day and night? Would you forget everything else in life, and take care of me? Be the ghost you've become these past few months? Would you…would you come home covered in blood for __**me**__?" His mind reels, mouth opening to speak words he cannot find._

"_I…Ayako, he…" The one moment he needs to speak, and it's near impossible. Her anger has built for months, fueled by a jealousy unseen by Yamamoto._

"_I'm your__**fiancé**__, Yamamoto Takeshi! Why can't you love me like you love him? Why do I have to play second to someone I can never overtake?!" Tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Yamamoto moves toward her, hand gently cupping her cheek. The confusion is evident in his eyes, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. For a moment, Ayako seems placated, but it doesn't last. She's had time to think about this. Her fingers move, pulling the dainty ring from her slim finger, pressing it into Yamamoto's hand._

"_Ayako…?" He begins, looking at the ring like it might bite him, and then at her face, eyes pained._

"_I'm sorry. I can't. I've made my decision. I've had months to, after all. I can't do this. I can't play second fiddle to him. You were so wrapped up…so concerned, you forgot about me. About us." Her fingers find his face, cupping his cheek gently. "I love you, Takeshi. And if I had the power, I'd make you love me more than you love Gokudera. But that's not something I can do." Yamamoto opens his mouth, the ring falling to the floor at their feet. She places a finger over his lips, shaking her head. "Just…go." The words sound so painful, so distant. She's so strong, so strong as she holds her head high and lets him go._

It's nearing on two years since she left him, but he still remembers the moment like it had been minutes ago. He remembers it more clearly than when he saw Gokudera, bedridden, drugged and chiding him for letting the Tenth worry about him. He had been left in limbo for a long time, throwing himself into work. Yamamoto's lucky to still have a civil relationship with Ayako—not close like they had been, but a dinner a few months after their split seemed to calm both of their nerves and gave them both their permission to move on. She was married now to a devoted man with a good job and had a baby on the way. When she sent the announcement cards, she had written, in her feminine script, that he should go after what he wants, because she wanted Yamamoto to be just as happy as she was.

Two years now, and he's been left in a place he can't name. The Vongola still have their footholds, and the Guardians are as busy as ever, but he knows he's still searching for something that's missing. The hole that Ayako had begun to fill is left gaping. He's happy, he really is, but he still feels like he's left something behind. He's only realized recently that it's the gravity of the old days, pulling him back in. The gravity of Gokudera Hayato has its hold on him, keeping him static. He makes no move, even though he longs to, because it's been obvious for years now that Gokudera has stopped looking at him the way he used to. He wants Tsuna, and life to Gokudera will always be Tsuna.

Or at least that's the resolve he repeats to himself.

His resolution is beginning to crack, his respect for the wishes of his friends fading only slightly in favor of what _he_ wants and needs. The selfless Yamamoto Takeshi does, in fact, have the capability to be selfish. Somewhere, buried deep inside, he's still hopeful. It's because in his mind, he can still remember what Gokudera tastes like, can still remember the way he arched against him. Somehow, he still wants him, still hopes that one day he'll have him. God knows how, after all of these years.

The ash on the cigarette has built up, dropping of it's own accord onto the table. It starts him slightly. Yamamoto taps it on the ashtray futility, taking a slight drag, playing with it just to keep his hands busy. He takes a sip of his espresso—it's cold now anyway, but it's all about keeping up appearances, right, Takeshi?

Yamamoto wonders if perhaps, maybe with a touch, it might change. Gokudera might look at him again the way he used to, realize that his celibacy after Ayako wasn't a way of repenting. It was waiting, waiting for something he didn't know how to get. He sighs, wishing he had someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to listen, who might understand this plight of his. Normally he would talk to Tsuna…but no. No, this involved Tsuna too closely, it hit too close to home. There was no one else he knew that he trusted to speak of about this—no matter how hard he racked his brain.

His eyes catch a flash of blonde hair in his periphery—normally something he would ignore, but something in him makes him turn, looking across the street. He finds a familiar face, shadowed by a recognizable presence: Dino Cavallone.

Dino doesn't hear him the first few times he calls, but as Yamamoto rises from his seat, amber eyes find his tall, dark-suited form. There is a soft smile of recognition on Dino's face, and a familiarity when he approaches Yamamoto.

"Ah, Yamamoto…in beautiful Italy again, are we?" Dino's smiling like he always does, but somehow it's not the same. His charming, cheery demeanor seems to fall flat.

"Mm, a meeting for Tsuna." Yamamoto smiles, eyes flicking over Dino's face. Perhaps…perhaps Dino…

"Working hard for my little bro, eh?" Dino laughs, the sound a little heavy, weighted. Yamamoto's lips form a half smile. He knows the weight of that laugh—the weight his own seems to carry these days. Perhaps Dino is the one to ask. Dino's been around forever, after all: at nearly every Vongola function, birthday, even at odd times just to pop around to say hello—though Yamamoto is sure he was just checking up on Tsuna whilst trying to track down Hibari. Dino has dealt with a troublesome, hard-to-understand, distant lover. Perhaps he has some hints, some practical advice. Besides, the odd sadness in Dino's eyes intrigues him.

"Have you had dinner yet?" Yamamoto asks, tilting his head slightly. Dino pauses, floundering over words. His eyes search Yamamoto's, his expression seeming as if he'd like to, but doesn't know if he deserves the kindness. It's as if Yamamoto should know something that would make him nowhere near this civil to Dino. Yamamoto pulls out his winning smile. "I insist, I insist. Plus, you always know the best things to order." Dino's mouth forms a mirroring smile, a glimpse of warmth coming to his expression.

"Alright, alright. I'll indulge you." He gives a small grin. "But only because you're better company than Bono and Romario." He winks at his subordinates, laughing softly at their halfhearted grumbling. Dino instructs them to have the night off, and that he'll call them at any sign of trouble.

As the blonde haired man joins him at his table, Yamamoto has a sweeping feeling of relief—because somehow Dino looks like he's looking for advice as well. The pretty waitress is all but blinded by their charming smiles as she brings them dinner menus. Dino orders without looking—Yamamoto had forgotten this is one of his haunts—and Yamamoto orders the same without thinking twice. As they sit back, the last vestiges of sun peaking through the horizon, they both have the same thought:

Perhaps, just maybe, things will work out after all.

TBC


	3. Fleeting Clarity

Greetings to you, my fellow ff people. Yes, it's been forever. This story has never left my mind, no matter how far away from my day-to-day life it has come. I was looking through my old brainstorming files tonight, my old writing playlist playing, and the spark of inspiration hit me. That being said, this does not follow the same format as my previous writing. It's an immersion back into the world of Realta, back into the emotions of the characters. This is a first look and a first attempt at writing the voices of Hibari and Gokudera, and I hope this leads to the continuation of this story, to longer chapters. That being said, I'm very behind on the actual cannon of KHR, so please excuse any discrepancies that may arrive. This little diddy is my way of saying "Hey, I'm alive! Just barely, but whooo!"

* * *

Living without him wasn't something he was prepared to do. They dealt with loss too much in this line of work—and this, this was so very different than what he was used to, what he knew how to deal with. Kyouya wasn't dead—oh, far from it. He was living and breathing somewhere, most likely stealing the breath from someone else. Images of those deadly hands come to mind, his brain torturing him, making him remember thin, dangerous digits sliding along his hip, sharp dark eyes looking up into his own. Teeth hidden behind a small, silent smirk formed with such deceptively soft lips.

He can still remember the feel of his skin against him, the weight of his body against his hips. His Kyouya—no, not his anymore, he must remind himself—seemed so delicate in his bed, at first glance, all lithe limbs and pale, pale skin…but if one let himself believe it for a minute, for only a second, he'd be endangering his life. Kyouya was anything but delicate and soft—he was all sharp angles and scraping nails, biting teeth.

It always felt hard and fast, their passion and essence pushed into every second of sex, even when Dino had the sparse opportunity to take his lover slow and deep, embracing him like he'd never let go. In the end, it had been Dino _himself_ who had ripped them apart. It was he—the one who always wanted to hold Kyouya through the night, reveling in the peaceful moments of slumber with the raven-haired man—who ruined everything he had taken so long to create.

Normally he wouldn't be one to burden anyone else with these thoughts—the weight of this burden should be all his—but somehow the sorrow he sees in Yamamoto's eyes mirrors his own, and he can't help confessing everything to him.

* * *

Unacceptable.

Some things in this world are deplorable, shameful, deceitful and reprehensible.

Dino Cavallone is guilty—guilty of an act that, in the mind of Hibari Kyouya, is unforgivable.

He knew there was a reason not to trust. For years, Hibari had never truly trusted anyone. Kusakabe was one exception, but even Hibari himself knows that one day he will betray that trust. After all, Kusakabe is an herbivore. A mildly agreeable one, but an herbivore all the same.

As a child, he learned quickly that trust was something to be held close, never given lightly, and preferably never given at all. He never trusted his vain mother, his disapproving father, both looking at him as the disappointment of a second son, never able to live up to his brother's brilliance. Hibari was a smudge on their perfect family, closed and cold, preferring to lay back and stare at the clouds in silence rather than laugh meaninglessly and twitter away about nothing. He has no regrets for leaving that existence behind, pushing forward into his own existence. He refuses to consider his escape as running. He never ran from anything, be it a fight or his past.

It was as if he'd lost everything that meant anything in this life, even though he'd never have the words to say it. The thought of Dino broke him into pieces, but he would never recognize the emotion as such. The dull ache in his chest was anger, perhaps, or a lack of activity, god forbid some sort of stress. But heartbreak it would never be. Because Hibari Kyouya has no heart. He has the instincts of a killer and is one without second thought, but he does not love. Someone like Hibari has no place for love.

So how did Dino manage to sneak in, like an unwanted pest? More like an operative, slowly invading, and before one could stop it, the place is overrun. Hibari knows this kind of situation well. Parallels make things easier to understand—this feeling he has for the Cavallone is a bond. Like the bond he has with Kusakabe, or Hibird. But…that parallel isn't quite on, because those bonds have never made his eyes sting, his throat clench up like this.

His voice comes out as a hiss as he passes his second, Kusakabe making no move to follow.

Once upon a time, he used to receive gifts as apologies. Hibari remembers the awkward looking bouquet that arrived at his apartment—yellow, white and red tulips, hydrangeas, and purple hyacinths. The stupid romance of that idiotic Italian herbivore: his avowal of being hopelessly in love with him, his sincerity, wanting his forgiveness, with a stubborn declaration of sincerity and perseverance. Hibari wonders why he had kept them. Flowers were such a silly thing to give another person, a gift that one was destined to watch die.

A part of him is waiting for a bouquet to appear again.

It won't arrive.

* * *

There's such an inconsistency in Gokudera, and it's aggravating him to the core. The pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray at his side is a testament to his condition. And in the end, it all comes down to one frightening dilemma.

He wants him to touch him again.

The memory of Yamamoto's hands is seared into Gokudera's brain, and he can't let it go, he can't just forget it. The bastard is ingrained in his memory, and every meeting all he can feel is the heat radiating off of that lithe form, testing his patience and his will.

He can't stand him. And not for the same reasons he gave when he was younger. Then again, maybe they all are drawn from the same endless pit of emotion that he seems to have for Yamamoto.

Shaking the wistful haze from his head, Gokudera's fingers move slowly, deliberately, over the barrel of his gun, meticulously cleaning the tool of his craft. What a ridiculous predicament for someone in his position to waste time wondering over. Who has time for nostalgia, for "what if's", when tomorrow might be your last? Who has time for weakness?

His work makes him happy. Devotion, tactics, being busy, that keeps him preoccupied. He feels useful, needed. Tsuna has been his saving grace in life, the force that brought him up at a time he felt like a wanderer in life, a wayfarer useless to everyone, even himself. Maybe he won't realize his stupid desires, but he will always have a place with Tsuna, with the Vongola.

And that's enough.

At least he'll keep telling himself that, when heat spreads in his chest, when he feels himself tugged in the direction of the tall, dark figure that plagues his thoughts and dreams. When he remembers what those large hands felt like, gripped tight at his hips, pulling, dragging him towards ecstasy.

He is needed. That's enough.

The tinning of his phone starts him from this melancholy acceptance. His chest gives a twinge, the beginnings of a curse on his lips. There's only one person who would call him this late, only one person stupid enough to face his wrath. What timing that stupid bastard has. The moment he beings to let go, begins to remind himself that he everything he has is enough, that the past is the past, he calls. Yamamoto has the unwavering capacity to jump back into his life, crashing recklessly through the sensibilities Gokudera works so hard to build up while he's gone. Gokudera snatches up the phone, flipping it open with a halfhearted scowl on his face.

"What."

"Haya—" There is a brief pause, and Gokudera can almost hear a wince of regret for the familiarity in Yamamoto's voice. He misses that happy tone Yamamoto used to have, the joy with which he used to say his name, a smile so clear in his voice. Time had changed them all. "Gokudera. It's me."

* * *

A/N: I don't mean to leave a cliffhanger, I don't! This all leads to the continuation of the story, I promise. I know, it feels short to me too. I try, I try, two years is a long time!

The timeline seems a bit wonky, but this interlude isn't really meant to be super structured. It's my way of exploring how I've created foils in relationships with these two. I see Yamamoto and Dino as such parallels, same with Gokudera and Hibari. They both take such different routes—a relationship in which both lovers begin to give up, no matter how much they love each other, and the two that love each other too much to let go, even though they put a block between each other. Oh, I have a feeling this story might have some hope in it. Let's just hope my endless academics don't delay it for another two years. Haha, maybe just one this time (I kid, I kid.) . Please leave thoughts, how you see these relationships, the continuation of this story. It really does help, I promise. Manifestos are welcome!

(P.S., Writing Hibari is terrifying. Haha)


	4. Kindred Spirits in Rented Rooms

A/n: Well a night with a bottle of wine and too many cigs after a bit of an emotional day leads to me returning to Realta after such a long time away. Seems like I can't write this thing unless the emotions are high, but I hope this is worth the wait. Sorry if things are a bit off from the other chapters-it _has_ been forever and ever since I wrote those first two, but I hope this still captures the essence of the piece. Thanks for your support all this time!

* * *

Dino didn't intend for his story, his words, to bubble up in his throat and spill out into the world. He didn't deserve sympathy. He didn't deserve a shoulder to cry on. He deserves nothing for what he has done…but even the criminal deserves a fair trial, a chance to atone. These words were his confession and his attempt at penance. Unabashed honesty, perhaps not to the one who needs to hear it, but at least these feelings would be free from inside his chest.

"I…God, I'm an idiot. That's what it comes down to, I suppose." Dino runs his hand through his hair, words working to unravel from the knot in his heart to his brain. Yamamoto stays silent, letting a tilt of the head and a soft smile on his lips enough to urge Dino on. He cannot take the kindness. That smile alone almost breaks him.

"I cheated on him." The words come out like a sigh, rushed, painful to expel and almost just as painful to hear.

"Hibari?" Yamamoto's voice is gentle, softly probing. Dino merely nods, waiting for a barrage of questions, to be berated, anything. It doesn't come. Yamamoto merely sits, waiting for him to let the words out himself. He treats him like a wild stallion, calm, tranquil, letting him come to him instead of forcing his words.

"She…she was someone I knew once. I suppose still know, really, but that doesn't matter, does it?" He pauses, playing with the rim of his cup. Looking up, his shame evident in his eyes, his voice comes out as almost a whisper. "Well you're free to hate me now." A soft laugh passes his lips, shaking his head morosely.

"I don't hate you, Dino." Yamamoto states the words simply, so candidly that it shocks the blonde back to life. Yamamoto smoothly lays down money for their check, motioning for Dino to stand, knowing this was not a conversation meant for public ears. They stand in unison, Dino mindlessly following Yamamoto to his rented rooms. Yamamoto does not probe, and Dino feels the weight of his confession in the air as they walk winding streets. As they enter, whirlwinds of thoughts beginning to take some corporal form as he sits down on the couch. The cup of coffee floating into his field of vision startles him from his musings. Taking it, he is thankful for the faint smell of alcohol he knows is mixed into the brew.

Yamamoto takes a moment to sit, placing a bottle of bourbon on the coffee table, pausing to take in the sad form of Dino Cavallone. "What happened? From the beginning." Dino lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Why? God…does it matter?" Yamamoto nods once. Dino sighs, letting his eyes watch the coffee in his cup. "I don't know….the beginning?" He licks his lips slightly, wetting them to give him a moment to think. "I…god, Yamamoto. I fucked up. The fault is mine. I was…lonely." He laughs bitterly. "What a stupid, cliché reason, eh?" Yamamoto shakes his head.

"No…no I wouldn't say so. I…understand what loneliness can do to a person." He smiles faintly, sadly. A vision of the man's beautiful, long gone ex-fiancée flashes into his mind. Dino feels almost stupid for being so selfish, but Yamamoto cuts off his attempts to segue the conversation almost immediately. "But this isn't about me, is it?" Yamamoto smiles softly. "You haven't been getting on? He's been away too long?"

Dino nods softly, then shakes his head. It went deeper than that, so much deeper, so deep that the mere sight of that chasm made his head spin. He looks to the darkening night sky, taking a deep breath. "You know, he's never told me he loves me. Not once. It's a stupid thing to hold against someone, especially him. Kyouya isn't someone who writes sonnets, for god's sake." He meets Yamamoto's eyes tentatively, seeing a mirror of emotion in them, a faint glimmer of understanding. "It would have been nice though, you know? To hear that this man, this man who has been my world for so many years didn't just stick around because it was convenient. Because he could tolerate me. Because I didn't dupe him into some kind of arrangement years ago that he never felt the ability to get out of. To tell me he didn't want this."

Dino takes a breath, trying not to meet the other man's eyes. "I love him. God, I love him so much. Maybe not from the beginning, I mean he was just a boy back then, no matter how you look at it. But things change, you know?" Yamamoto nods gently, smiling solemnly.

"It always does, doesn't it?" Yamamoto pauses a moment in contemplation. "But…Hibari isn't the type to do anything he doesn't want to, no?" Dino shrugs faintly, knowing the words to be true, words he has thought a hundred, a million times before.

"I have this…this incredible pull in my heart some days. Sometimes all I want is love that comes easy, naturally. Someone to fall asleep next to at night and wake up with in the morning, knowing that I can turn over and kiss them awake and that it would be welcome." Dino snorts slightly, hanging his head.

"God, even knowing that we would wake up together at all would be enough." A wan smile passes over Dino's face. "I suppose I've been in the process of wooing him for years, really. It's so fulfilling, when he's with me, when I feel like he might just love me back." He shakes his head. He's tried for years to work Kyouya out of his shell, to prove to him that love does not mean weakness, that opening his heart won't lead inevitably to pain, betrayal. He did a pretty shit job at proving that though, now didn't he? "When I'm with him, I feel this…inexplicable joy. Just the sight of his face can give me chills, still, even after all these years. The feeling of him warm against me makes my heart soar." He looks down, face pained. "But…then he leaves, without a word. Never a note, a sign that he'll come back, that he even wanted to be there for any reason but convenience in the first place. I begin to feel hollow, alone, I second guess every little look, every faint smile I've managed to convince myself he's given me, and I'm filled with an uncontrollable melancholy. The longer he's gone, the more I feel it. It doesn't always get solved by the sight of him, though. Sometimes he'll come back for a day, I'll see him at a meeting, and he looks right through me! It's as if the last time I saw him he wasn't in my arms, I wasn't whispering his name into his hair, and I could almost swear his fingers were resting against my chest, and, and…" He pauses, his words flowing so fast he almost can't keep up with them.

Yamamoto nods softly, not knowing quite what to say but he seems to know the words will continue with time. He lifts the bottle of bourbon on the coffee table, splashing a bit more into Dino's coffee, the blonde man giving him a nod of thanks in return.

"I'm not trying to pass the blame. I cheated on him, and I regret every moment from the bottom of my heart. It's unforgiveable. I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me forever. But…it's hard, living like that. It makes you weak to a pair of willing arms that are so clearly yearning for your love, however fleeting. Waiting so long for even a glimmer of a solid reciprocation in him. It's always like that. I'll find myself so comfortable, letting myself think that he's telling me in his own way that he cares about me, that maybe he'll find a way to tell me in words." Dino takes a large sip of his drink, wincing at the strength, but receiving the pain willingly for the numb feeling it was creating. "The next moment he's cold, he pushes me away so violently, and trying again and again…it makes me so tired. I'm _tired_, Yamamoto." A snort. "I'm not a kid anymore, no matter how young I might still look. I'm grasping at straws again and again. Someone might as well just call my clinically insane."

"Love…makes everyone a little crazy, Dino." Yamamoto places a hand on his shoulder gently. Just the small touch is like a wave of release washing over him, his shoulders slumping as if a long held weight had finally begun to lift. "You should tell him, you know. Keeping things inside, keeping secrets, they'll drive you crazy, you know?" Yamamoto's smile takes on a faintly painful air, and Dino feels in him a kindred spirit.

"Ah, you're in love, are you?" Dino makes a poor attempt to joke, lighten the heavy atmosphere. Yamamoto looks at him sadly.

"Yeah." He says simply, a soft, distant smile on his face, slightly painful to look at, Dino wishing he could still make that lovesick face without guilt.

"That's not so bad, is it? Being in love." Dino smiles faintly, encouragingly, wanting to help this man who had helped him release so much weight from his shoulders in his confession.

"Hn. Yeah…yeah sometimes it is, you know?" Yamamoto looks out the window sadly, and Dino thinks he might understand.

"Ayako?" He asks softly, taking a swig of his doctored coffee, the alcohol making his chest pleasantly warm. Yamamoto looks shocked for a moment, then lets out a soft laugh, surprised, as he shakes his head faintly. It was then that it all clicked in Dino's mind, feeling stupid for not putting all the pieces he had together sooner. "Ah…Gokudera." Yamamoto's eyes snap up, not expecting that name to pass the blonde's lips. He laughs sheepishly, a hand coming to rub at the back of his neck.

"Is it that obvious?" His eyes plead for him to respond in the negative, but his eyes show that he knows that answer isn't coming. Dino smiles softly, nodding slightly.

"Maybe not to him, but he's not the most perceptive when it comes to himself." Dino laughs, shaking his head. "For such a smart kid, he can be pretty slow when it comes to stuff like that." Yamamoto lets out a heavy sigh, throwing back his coffee and refilling his cup with bourbon. He knocks back the shot, pouring another to nurse. Dino doesn't blame him.

"You know, she left me because of him." Yamamoto leans back into the couch cushion, eyeing Dino. Dino gives him a quizzical look in return, unconsciously mirroring his pose. "When he got hurt, when he…the coma. I never even noticed how much I neglected her. I could only think of…I knew I couldn't go on without him. I realized I had been so stupid to run away from the truth." He tilts his head, looking to the ceiling. "I really did love her. She was my window to the real world again. She made me forget what it felt like to have to wash a man's blood from my hands. But it wasn't enough." He meets Dino's eyes briefly, Dino feeling in him a kindred spirit. Knowing how it felt for 'things as they are' to not be enough. "It wasn't enough for her, for me too, I guess, and in the end I couldn't give her what she needed. I loved him too much. She couldn't share, and I couldn't ask her to."

Yamamoto sinks lower into the couch, his long frame seeming to spill from the top cushion to the floor. "And now…well now it all seems to late. All he does is chase after Tsuna and work and work and work. He barely looks at me anymore. I thought I'd given him up a long time ago, but every time I see him my hands twitch, like they're trying on their own to reach out to him."

Yamamoto smiles faintly, and the sorrow in his eyes makes Dino's chest clench. He fills his own cup with bourbon as the two of them sit, head lighter, but heart still full of sadness, for himself and for this gentle man lead astray, a pure soul tarnished by death, by the blood on his hands. His heart weeps for this wonderfully kind person who mirrors his own heartbreak in that smile. It was a smile he had been giving to the world for a long time now, waiting for someone else to see the pain behind the façade. He thanked whatever force brought them together that night, brought them to each other to help lift some of their sorrow.

"Well….aren't we the pair?" Dino smiles wryly, lifting his cup to the other man before draining it. Yamamoto gives a short, feeble laugh, draining his cup in turn.

"Yeah, aren't we?" Dino feels a pang of longing for Yamamoto's old, easy smiles, that lighthearted laughter. They're all getting older, harder, but to see it in the other man's once gentle, carefree face makes him feel old, jaded. Yamamoto's voice breaks him from his alcohol-induced daze. "What are you gonna do?" He asks softly. Dino doesn't quite know how to respond.

"Do?" He shakes his head. "What can I do? I'm resigned to him either never coming back, and if he ever did, I'm sure it would be to finish choking the life out of me." Yamamoto raises an eyebrow, and Dino can see the understanding pass over his face.

"Ah…so he found out." Yamamoto looks sympathetic—Dino doesn't think he's worth the emotion. He lets out a sharp laugh.

"Found out? Well, yes….yes, he did, but through all the fault of my own. He was at my place. He does that pretty often, knows I'm not around, out of town, so he'll come and crash at my apartment for a night and leaves with barely a hint of his presence." Dino runs his finger along the rim of his cup, picking up the last drops of alcohol. "When I came home, after…after I was with her. He was there." He rolls his eyes slightly, berating himself for his stupidity, for being so stupid as to betray the man. "He knew from the moment he saw me. I can't hide guilt, let alone the smell of a woman on me." Yamamoto eyes him, nodding gently. "He nearly choked the life out of me, and left me without a word. Walked out." Dino picks at a thread in the couch with apt interest for a moment, before his voice comes out in a soft murmur. "I deserved it. If he never sees me again, I'll understand."

"I'm so sorry." The words hit Dino like a ton of bricks, eyes snapping up to Yamamoto. He doesn't feel like he deserves the sympathy, but the gesture makes him want to cry. He doesn't refuse the words, giving a little nod. Yamamoto is more perceptive than most give him credit for. He must know that Dino feels nothing but guilt, that that guilt is eating him alive. Yamamoto will not tell him he is blameless, but he will give his condolences for his loss. Dino shakes off the urge to weep like a lovesick girl, and looks at Yamamoto kindly, solemnly.

"What about you?" Dino refills both cups with the last of the bottle. Yamamoto raises a brow, shaking his head.

"What about me?" Yamamoto drains the cup, shaking his head slightly at the burn of the alcohol. "What am I gonna do?" He snorts at Dino's nod. "Nothing, Dino. Nothing." Dino looks at him, perplexed.

"Nothing? Why nothing? You're just going to stay like this? Miserable?" Yamamoto looks a bit guilty as he puts his cup down on the coffee table.

"He's in love with Tsuna." He states matter-of-factly, giving a short shrug. Dino feels his lips lift, a soft, sloppy laugh bubbling from his lips. Yamamoto's eyes light with a muted anger, expression sharp for an almost unnoticeable moment. Dino raises his hand, trying to placate him.

"No, no, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for laughing, but in love with Tsuna?" Yamamoto nods, confused. "Well, of course, he does love him, in his own way. Tsuna saved him from himself, gave him a purpose in life. But romantic love? No, no I wouldn't really put it that far."

"Well, but—" Yamamoto begins, but Dino raises his hand again, stopping him.

"Tsuna is madly in love with Kyoko. Gokudera was the one who helped kick Tsuna into gear to get her, after all. And no, before you say it, it wasn't him sucking up his feelings."

Yamamoto looks at him in disbelief, voice coming out a little harsher than he may have intended. "And how do you know that?" Dino nods—an understandable question.

"When you proposed to Ayako…Gokudera, he didn't take it well." Yamamoto nods slowly, lips pressed together softly in thought.

"I remember that he was…distant. Wouldn't talk to me, really. He kept taking mission after mission, and when he wasn't out of the base he was always working on something." He lets out a breath, shaking his head. "I thought he was upset at me, that I wouldn't be able to do my job properly. That I was betraying Tsuna." Dino smiles softly, consoling.

"Tsuna, he allowed Gokudera to delve into work for a while, but after he didn't pull out of his funk, he called me." Dino can distinctly remember the worry in Tsuna's voice, so desperate to find help for his friend. "He told me about why he thought Gokudera was so troubled, and told me he wanted to send him to Italy for a while. It being Tsuna, of course, I accepted." Yamamoto shakes his head slightly, frowning.

"He said it was for research." He looks up. "At least that's what Tsuna told me." Dino nods faintly.

"Well yeah, I suppose that was part of it. Part of it was a change of scenery, too. Tsuna thought it would calm him down. It…didn't quite go as well as we thought, though. Gokudera thought of it as exile, and he raged against me." Dino shakes his head, remembering the pained, sullen anger Gokudera expelled at all times, not letting anyone or anything pacify him. Everyone was a threat, everyone and everything a nuisance. "One night, he must have drank himself into a stupor. One of my men came to tell me of a disturbance in one of our training rooms, the sound of explosions, wild and unpredictable, but no sign of forced entry. I went to investigate, and I found him, throwing off his experimental bombs with no regard for his own life, an empty bottle in one hand. Once I managed to disarm him, he broke down sobbing." Yamamoto's face was one of inexplicable pain.

"Was he trying to…?" The question was left unfinished, but Dino understood the pain and sorrow, the guilt, behind its inflection.

"Kill himself?" Yamamoto winces at the words. Dino pauses for a moment, not sure of his answer. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't even think he knew if he had a purpose to it, other than to destroy something." Dino pauses, trying to think of the words to explain what had happened without breaking his promise to Gokudera to keep the details of their conversation private. The silence seems to unnerve Yamamoto, but the man keeps quiet. "I can't tell you exactly what was said, it was a conversation in confidence, but I can tell you that he told me he was in love. In love with someone it was hopeless to be in love with. He knew that he could never be with this person, but he couldn't get himself to just move on and let them go. Drinking and destruction was the only thing he could think of to release his emotions." Yamamoto sighs softly, nodding in understanding.

"Tsuna." Dino shakes his head, sighing. Yamamoto, as perceptive as he could be, was just like Gokudera: blind to his own situation.

"No, not Tsuna. I even asked him if it was Tsuna directly, and he seemed offended by the question, that it was so off the mark that it shocked him." An air of impatience rolls off of Yamamoto, clearly wanting solid answers from Dino but not knowing if he'll be able to get them.

"Who?" He asks, tone holding an air of jealousy that would be clear to even the dullest of ears. Dino shakes his head.

"I can't." A flash of annoyance comes over Yamamoto's face, but it quickly changes to an apologetic look of understanding. Dino puts a hand on his shoulder, putting his cup down. "Just…talk to him, okay? Don't run from it." Yamamoto furrows his brow lightly in response to this, but then nods gently, seeming to understand that he'll get nothing more out of the blonde.

"Yeah…yeah." He looks at Dino, kind but determined. "Yeah. You too, you know?" Dino gives him the faintest of smiles, knowing he likely wont, but the encouragement isn't unappreciated. Yamamoto's eyes flick to the clock, eyes widening slightly at the late hour, then flicking to his watch, then back to the clock.

"This late already, huh?" Yamamoto stands, swaying slightly, not expecting the full force of their drinking to hit him all at once. Dino stands with him, holding onto the arm of the couch for support. "I've got a flight in the morning, see." Yamamoto scratches the back of his neck. "I don't want to kick you out after getting you drunk and all, I know your place is far…" A faint version of Yamamoto's kind laugh is like music to Dino's ears, and he can't help but smile faintly in return. Yamamoto shrugs. "Well, couch is a bit small, so if you don't mind sharing with me for the night, you're free to stay." Yamamoto lets off a sliver of a sheepish grin. "I kinda kick a little, but the bed's pretty big." Dino laughs, warmed by the nostalgic flash of childishness in the man.

"Sure, sure. Just don't be scared if I'm spooning you in the morning." Dino gives a joking wink, and Yamamoto punches his arm lightly with a laugh. The two momentarily feel the weight of their sorrows lifted, aided by alcohol and camaraderie. Tonight was a good night. Dino feels, for the first time in what seems like forever, that tomorrow might really be a little bit better.

As the two slip into the large king bed, Dino finds sleep calling to him, calmed by the bourbon-warmth in his chest, welcome after hours of draining self-hatred and guilt. Yamamoto leans over to turn off the light and Dino's eyes close, the darkness welcome, his body so thankful for the reprieve that he doesn't even notice the chirped song of a small yellow bird at the windowsill so late in the evening, the odd timing of the sound merely background noise as he slips away to sleep.


	5. Lonely Strangers

A/N: Another two years, another hello? Seems like it. This has been in the back of my mind for forever, but I just haven't had the energy or the emotional capacity to get it down. I've had a broad arc for both the D18 and the 8059 in this story, but it took a lovely note from _mochic_ to jumpstart the process. Thank you so very much for the kick up the ass. :D

A style note: this is kind of a linear chunk of story, but in many viewpoints, with a flashback in italics. Any changes in style are intended to fit with the character in question. I've already got the next part of this brewing, and the 8059 as well. Not sure which is next, though there might be a riot if I don't continue this part first ;)

* * *

Hibari could remember that night as crisply now as he did when he still had the warmth of Dino's pulse on his palm, door freshly shut behind him, feeling the pleasant soft breeze against his face. Numb, distanced from what felt like his chest imploding, his stomach churning, nose filled with the scent of rose-scented perfume.

Years of detachment, the burying of feelings, of ruthless self-control were, at that moment, breaking through the cracks in his armor. He didn't understand the feeling then. The words, the feelings he had never dared speak out loud, never dared think, they didn't need words to be clear in his heart. That strange thing he felt as he walked from that door? It was a piece of him being ripped apart.

If he weren't so strong, he'd be shaking like a leaf in the wind.

If he weren't so emotionally stunted he would scream and cry and tear himself apart with grief.

If it wasn't so much easier to _deny, deny, push, run, run, run_...each tender touch, each softly whispered word of devotion, his adoration for him made his heart panic in a way that he could not understand.

If he wasn't so scared to be loved, so terrified, he would have told him every day that he couldn't imagine his life without him.

Weakness.

Anything that made him feel... feel anything other than sadistic pleasure and abject rage behind that unflappable, unemotional façade could only be weakness. He pushed back the encroaching clarity, the steady march of loneliness, so that now his true feelings hovered near him like an unwelcome shadow, only far enough away to stay unacknowledged by his conscious, but ever-present, heavy. His mind now was only on searching for clues, boxes, and taking any opportunity that arose for violence.

His need for release grew and grew until he found himself at the Vongola base, seizing files on cold cases and mystery disturbances, taking out years of the Vongola's most persistent problems in a matter of months. He was unstoppable. He sifted through the files, leaving simpler cases for other's subordinates. His were select files, for his eyes-only. Files full of danger to the Vongola, but in his eyes, these were files of blonde hair and blue eyes, of faces not so far from the woman he couldn't help but track down.

Hibari couldn't help but despise her with every fiber of his being, even when she was only an idea. As he watched her chat happily at a café, the corporal manifestation of his betrayal, a smile spread across her face as she discussed her exploits, he almost couldn't contain the oppressive desire to cut those lips from her face, those fingers from her hands, any inch of skin that touched what belonged to him. A whisper of her scent on the wind nearly had him retching, bringing his hasty retreat.

Hands clenching and unclenching, he knew he could not harm the innocent, could not touch her, but a proxy would suffice for his overwhelming and sudden torrent of ferocious rage. It soon became clear that one proxy wasn't enough, that this vendetta turned into those coveted files, each target killed making the strange feeling in his chest both abate and swell at the same time. It was all he could do to push it back, to deny whatever this _thing_ was inside him by becoming the beast they all thought he was.

Nothing but destruction could numb whatever this was, this wound that he could not see, this pain he refused to feel.

He shed their blood, but no tears of his own.

* * *

Tsuna had to be somewhat impressed with the success Hibari had found, if he wasn't so clearly terrified of even attempting to speak to Hibari, who now existed with a permanent aura of despondency hidden beneath a façade of contained rage. Everyone worried, stepped more carefully than ever, knew something was terribly wrong, but could only wish, hope, _pray_ for this bloodlust to stay targeted to their enemies, and not brought into their own home.

Hibari never left a stone unturned, a job undone, a target missed, but his once clean work became rooms full of carnage, with no heed for surrender, no desire to kill efficiently, corpses with pained last breaths surrounding him, no prisoners, consequences be damned. Tsuna viewed an image of the aftermath of his last massacre of a job, another conveniently blonde haired, blue-eyed, pretty faced leader in the center of a circle of dead guards, and he knew the fear gripping his chest was much more than his normal insecurity around Hibari.

This had become something very different from dedication, or releasing stress by doing fieldwork. This feeling in his chest was outright fear, a growing terror that he had not felt since he first felt death stare him in the face. Something had happened, something all speculated at, something Tsuna had only recently learned the truth of.

Tsuna could see the raging of a wounded animal, heart so broken that Hibari couldn't see it for himself. Hibari did not love, did not know how to love consciously, so of course he denied what he could not analyze.

He wasn't lonely because he didn't need anyone to feel sustained.

He wasn't lost because he had no direction but that he chose for himself.

He wasn't betrayed because he trusted no one.

He wasn't heartbroken because he did not love.

Hibari Kyouya was in a million pieces, held together by sheer force of will, abject rage, and an incredible ability to put a hundred foot wall between him and his emotions. In any other situation, Tsuna would let him work it out, knowing that time would heal, but this had become bigger than just Hibari and his personal problems.

It began with Hibari's venomous treatment of Yamamoto, an unexpected shift in attitude towards one of the few people the Cloud Guardian seemed to be able to stand. His slow-burning anger and suspicion made every room they stood in together incredibly tense. Yamamoto did his best to soothe Hibari, though it seemed to take weeks of perseverance and his ever-tranquil personality to eventually cool the torrent of resentment Hibari aimed at him. Tsuna may never really know the true source, but like with most things that elicited this level of emotion in Hibari, it likely had to do with Dino. Tsuna hardly had enough time to breathe a sigh of relief before he noticed the increasing violence Hibari began to leave in his wake.

Word had spread that the Vongola were on a violent vendetta campaign, taking out anyone and everyone that had dared look at them the wrong way. The near-slaughter these recent jobs had left behind, they were out of character. They were too much, too vindictive, and so very far from Tsuna's painstaking attempts at minimal bloodshed. He knew he would never find lasting or absolute peace in this world, but he could try his hardest to have it be as infrequent as possible.

This problem was bigger than him, bigger than he could handle. It was this thought that had him reaching out to his phone, and calling the one person who had ever managed to pacify Hibari Kyouya, in his own way.

He needed Dino's help, no matter how much it hurt him to ask, no matter how much it hurt Dino to answer.

This was about more than just them now.

The fate of the family might well rest on this moment, luck be damned.

* * *

There was no world in which Dino Cavallone could have denied Tsuna's request. It was more than just subordination, but duty to family, to this man he considered his brother. It was also guilt pawing at his chest, knowing that part of this was his fault.

The bloodlust of Kyouya's youth had greatly subsided over the years, something that merely existed beneath the surface, willing to wreak havoc if released, but controlled. He would never be at the center of the Guardians, but he seemed to have accepted his role on his own terms. This truce seemed to be broken the moment he betrayed him, manifesting in a disdain towards Yamamoto, as far as he could parse from Tsuna.

Somehow he knew it had something to do with Yamamoto being his confidant in those weeks after his betrayal. As always, he knew he had to be grateful for Yamamoto's tranquil persistence, the only thing that cooled the anger Kyouya directed at him. Unfortunately, abating this only necessitated another target for Kyouya's anger, and Tsuna's briefing could only lead him to believe that this killing spree was his release.

"_Dino." Tsuna's eyes were downcast, his form slightly hunched, looking dwarfed behind his large desk. "I don't want to ask you this. You know that, don't you?" His eyes lifted, sorrowful but desperate. _

"_I know. Please, it's okay." Dino tried to crack a smile, but it fell short. "It comes down to me. I understand." He laughed bitterly. "It's penance, I guess."_

"_He's out of control, Dino." Tsuna's hands met in a steeple before he leaned his forehead against them. "I can't decide if I'm more afraid of what he'll do to the next ones or what he'll do to himself. He's going to self-destruct, and I can't figure out how to help him."_

_Dino nodded, standing slowly from his seat, face set in a determined grimace, with his words forming slowly as he bowed his head. "Tsuna…I used to try to stop myself thinking of the people I've harmed in my life, in this profession...but all it takes is one brick removed from the wall for it to crumble. A boy, not more than five, holding the hand of one of my subordinates – his father – he looked back at me and smiled, clutching his father's hand nervously." His lips flicked up into a momentary smile, wan but sincere. "So innocent, so willing to try, despite fear and the unknown, held steady by his father's hand, his anchor. And it was at that moment I realized how many father's hands I had ripped away, how many anchors I had cut off from the lives of little children with sweet smiles. How I had become what I hated the most when I was young, when I couldn't stand the sight of my own father. I have never wept like I did that day."_

_Tsuna met his eyes, a pain mirrored there. "Dino…" He trailed off, seeming to not know where to begin._

"_I have a chance to help. It's not often that happens." Dino turned towards the door, straightening his shoulders. "I made him take my hand, and then I let it go. It's my responsibility." He turned with a soft smile, hand finding the door handle. "Leave it to me, little bro." He let the familiar words leave his lips, though they lacked their usual mirth._

As Dino watched Kyouya, motions an oddly graceful dance of carnage and power, he looked terrifyingly beautiful. To move an inch closer would break the spell, break the distance he had so painstakingly maintained, would bring him back face to face with the biggest mistake he had ever made. He could feel his heart strain at the protective shell he had attempted to build, crying wildly for him to turn and run far, run fast, _don't make me do this, don't make me look at him and see those eyes again, see the void in the face of a man who I made my world_.

A sickening crunch broke him from his stasis, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. As Dino came around the corner, stepping carefully into the room, he really saw him. Kyouya. Not the feared Guardian of the Vongola, the killer he had been but a moment before, but the man he fell in love with. He stood over the body of his last opponent, who lay sprawled on her back, barely conscious, head wound slowly turning her long blonde hair a garish red. A sharp point on his tonfa lay heavily on her neck, digging slowly, so slowly, into her jugular.

This was not the efficient killer he knew, the one who would have finished the kill swiftly, not generally bothered with prolonging death. This was something else, _someone_ else, void of any semblance of emotion besides a burning in his eyes as the woman gave a slight whimper. Dino couldn't watch anymore, couldn't bear the look in either of their eyes. With a fluid motion, he took out his whip, wrist flicking to encircle Kyouya's, pulling it swiftly down and left, the blade moving accordingly to snuff out the woman's already fleeting life.

Kyouya's gaze whipped over to him, rage radiating from him. In a moment of recognition, his entire body froze, anger and shock and shame and despair mingling in his expression in only the incomprehensibly subtle way Kyouya's eyes could speak. The familiarity of reading him made his heart clench in his chest, made him want to reach out and touch him, and it made him remember his life could be in just as much danger as that poor girl, that girl who, despite her sins, didn't deserve to suffer.

With mere meters between them, neither made any indication of moving, eyes locked. It was all Dino could do to keep his gaze, to not falter, knowing this moment could make or break everything.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do. Not a whisper passed his lips, but instead he spoke with his eyes, spoke every gentle word of love and adoration he had ever spoken to this man in front of him, spoke every second of pain and regret and desolation he had felt from the moment his skylark had walked out of his door, out of his life.

He could only hope that Kyouya still remembered how to hear it.

* * *

There is honesty in his eyes, an honesty when he looks at him, an honesty that makes those clear blue eyes seem endless.

It hurts.

It's a familiar tightening in his chest, the same that has nagged him since that night. The feeling that he'd been ignoring, been pushing back.

It's the same feeling that he forces back with all the strength he can find, with every inch of his being, but every moment those eyes meet his is like a thread in the fragile construction he has built for years fraying at an unfathomable rate, faster than he can build it back up again. It leaves him feeling like the bottom has suddenly fallen out, his stomach flipping. This is what he wanted to avoid.

This moment. Those eyes. This man.

The only person he can ever remember trusting.

The only person who ever had that from him, albeit stolen as it was, taken bit by bit with each day of gentle smiles and thanklessly suffering his wild rage and detached nature.

The only person who had ever truly betrayed him.

The only time he had ever truly felt the shock that such betrayal caused, the unsuspecting nature of someone breaking that fragile bond in a million pieces. This look, this moment, it was only now that he realized. Only now, when it was too late, when the damage was done. Only now, when he could never take back what had happened, never take back what Dino had done, what _he_ had done. It was the moment he truly realized what that nagging feeling had been all this time.

Heartbreak.


End file.
